Is Jeff Lynne your favourite Travelling Wilbury? Don't you just wish you would hear Chris Rea's 'Let's Dance' just once an actual dance floor? Do you wish that James Taylor was your real Dad?
Meet FEMBOTanist!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

That old spirit of fornication was on that lingerie I do declare!

Ladies, your attention please.

What I am about to show you will help you to become a better 'lowercase' wife to your 'uppercase' HUSBAND. After all, you were designed only for the purpose of marrying a man.

I was going to copy and paste a slab of this shiz for your reading pleasure, but I just couldn't choose my favourite part.

Please feel free to circulate this amongst your friends. See feministing for more information.

Concerned and Committed to the Harvest,Emma LewisAbstinence Advocate

P.S. Remember: "Your HUSBAND does not want to make love to you in some old get-up that you used a few years ago with God knows who."

Been spendin' most our lives...

Just plug it into my veins.

Mum and I just went to JB HIFI on a combined Icehouse/Sherbert buying mission, and I can proudly say that the Icehouse albums that were stolen when we were robbed in 1990 (that my parents never replaced - cunts) are safely in my possession again. I was never really satisfied with the shares in the new chest freezer Dad offered me instead of replacing ‘Man of Colours’, the first album I ever purchased (at a whopping full price of $22.99 in 1987, mind you).

I’m already half way through ‘Flowers’, and I couldn’t be more satisfied. I’m going to spend a glorious afternoon adding each album to itunes, choreographing dance moves to ‘Electric blue’ and peeling the ‘IM CHEAP! BUY ME NOW!’ stickers from the cases.

Pardon me whilst my blog degenerates into an Icehouse tribute site - I was positively moved by their induction into the ARIA hall of fame on Sunday night and have been reliving my childhood ever since.

Stop scratching those ice bugs for a second...

Hangin' with ma.

I had the best time at the Sherbert reunion concert with mum last night. Armed with the Melways and a tank of delicious petrol, we drove all the way out to Doncaster (kind of like what would happen if Melton and Coburg had sex) to the ‘Shoppingtown Hotel’ (kind of like what would happen if Melton was on the Gold Coast).

Being the groupie moles with crap feet that we are, we wanted to stake out the place early in order to get decent seats. Therefore, we chose to dine in the ‘Bistro’ at the venue. I must say that despite what you would expect from a restaurant with an indoor playground and a gaming room, we both had a decent enough meal (although there was the small matter of the solidified mountain of herb butter placed on top of my fillet mignon, and also the fat man on the next table that ate what appeared to be a stack of three chicken parmagianas stuffed with chips). I also had the privilege of paying $3 for the weakest, flattest flat white ever – and if that coffee is indicative of what it’s like living in the outer east of Melbourne, excuse me while I keep living next to the Cleenaway toxic waste dump in the good ol’ north west.

Apart from watching all of the MILF’s try and crack onto Daryl Braithwaite, the funniest part of the night was trading tips with the people lining up about how to get a seat once we got into the venue. I thought mum and I had a good plan involving wheelchairs and crutches, until the lady next to me said in all seriousness that she planned to fake a diabetic fit if she couldn’t get a seat. Classic.

We did end up getting good seats - that was until the band came on and Mum disappeared into the mosh pit leaving me holding the handbags and coats while she worked her way to the front of the stage like a love crazed teenager.

And despite not coercing Daryl into a drug-fuelled orgy in the back of a Sandman panel van, we really did have a great night. I highly recommend hanging with the over 50’s set – they really know how to boogie down, keep it real, and still be in bed with a nice cup of tea by 11pm.

Friday, August 11, 2006

I can't believe I actually considered working on my thesis this afternoon.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

A Question.

If a tree falls in the woods when you are in the gym listening to ‘Valerie’ by Steve Winwood on your ipod, and you remove your headphones to find that the gym’s stereo is also playing ‘Valerie’ at almost exactly the same point, were you ever actually cool enough to have friends?

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Spotted!

I’m a rocket man.

“All this science I don't understand, it's just my job five days a week.”Driving home today, I was struck by those lyrics from Rocket Man. Should Emma Lewis ever besmirch her fine ivory epidermis with a tattoo, I would choose to have those very words inscribed somewhere about my bum-bum.

Of course, if I were to go down that path, those words would have to compete with my Steve Winwood 'Chronicles' album cover tattoo for pride of place in my anogenital region... but I digress.

Hearing Rocket Man also reminded me of the Shatner version...

...which in turn reminded me of the Stewie version...

...which in turn had me reaching for the Tena ladies on the Tullamarine freeway.